


Potentially Deadly Internet Threesome

by gyroscope



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Casual Sex, Light Dom/sub, Modern Steve Rogers, Multi, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Threesome - F/M/M, Tinder, skinny Steve is a top and you can't change my mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 10:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19810093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyroscope/pseuds/gyroscope
Summary: The first profile that comes up is a couple, which is usually an immediate left swipe, but something makes Steve pause. The photo shows the back of a man’s head, long dark hair with a slight wave, one broad pale shoulder and a part of his back. The woman, beside him, is curled around her boyfriend with her chest pressed up against his arm, just a touch of one bare breast visible. Her head is side-on to the camera, her bright red hair falling forwards to obscure her face.We’re both bisexual but he’s never been with a man. Looking for someone to help fix that ;DWe value kindness and good communication over specific looks or skills.Both have intense & unpredictable jobs, apologies in advance if it takes us a while to reply to your message. x





	Potentially Deadly Internet Threesome

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a sort of MCU/comics/AU mashup where Natasha & Bucky are an established couple (and also superheroes) and Steve is an angry millennial twink who likes hooking up with strangers.
> 
> Title from the [AO3 Tag Generator](https://twitter.com/ao3taggenerator), original prompt by [@demi_darling](https://twitter.com/demi_darling).
> 
> Massive thanks to grace, merc & steeb for the encouragement & beta reading <3

It’s probably unprofessional to be on Tinder while waiting to be called into a job interview.

But, Steve thinks, if the job interview people don’t want him sitting here playing with his phone, they should have scheduled the interviews better, so they wouldn’t be running more than half an hour late. Or they could have put out some magazines, or offered him a coffee, or something.

It’s not even a real job, just a three month internship. In _Midtown_. But it’s paid, and recently graduated art students can’t be choosers. Especially ones who didn’t make it to college until their mid twenties, and are now finding themselves in a competitive job market full of bright-eyed babies.

Steve glares at his phone and aggressively swipes left on a beaming Gen Z’er with perfect teeth. He used to be a twink too. Now he’s just another insecure and burned out 28-year-old. That’s at least forty in gay years. Probably he’ll die alone.

He flips to his profile, changes his _looking for_ age limits to 25-40. No need to keep looking at all these kids who are too young for him. Maybe he’d be happier with an older partner, anyway. Someone mature and experienced, who wants to take Steve out for nice dinners, instead of inviting him over to drink PBR and fuck on a floor mattress with no sheets.

Back to the search.

The first profile that comes up is a couple, which is usually an immediate left swipe, but something makes Steve pause. The photo shows the back of a man’s head, long dark hair with a slight wave, one broad pale shoulder and a part of his back. The woman, beside him, is curled around her boyfriend with her chest pressed up against his arm, just a touch of one bare breast visible. Her head is side-on to the camera, her bright red hair falling forwards to obscure her face.

_We’re both bisexual but he’s never been with a man. Looking for someone to help fix that ;D_  
_We value kindness and good communication over specific looks or skills._  
_Both have intense & unpredictable jobs, apologies in advance if it takes us a while to reply to your message. x_

Steve keeps looking at that opening line, that _never been with a man_. And he _knows_ that’s a red flag, he knows all the pitfalls and drama of being someone’s experiment. He knows how it feels to go into something as the bit of fun on the side, and then realize that what you really are is the focal point and scapegoat for all of some couple’s insecurities and frustrations.

But he keeps looking at the photo, too, looking at how soft the guy’s dark hair looks against the powerful curve of his shoulder – he has _dimples_ in his _upper back_ for god’s sake, Steve’s only human. The thought of all that muscle and strength combined with shy inexperience – it’s doing something for him, ok.

He switches over to WhatsApp.

 **Steve** : I think I’m about to make a bad decision  
**América** : you?? surely not  
**Steve** : there’s this couple on tinder  
**América** : STEVE  
**América** : we said no more unicorn hunters  
**América** : has the couples thing ever gone well for either of us in the past, Steve  
**América** : spoiler, it has not  
**Steve** : yeah I know

He navigates back to Tinder. Looks at the photo again, looks more closely at the woman this time. At first glance, he’d thought her face was completely hidden by her hair, but now he realizes he can just see the edge of her mouth. It’s tilted up in a little smile, as if she’s about to laugh, as if she snapped the photo just a split second before cracking up and ruining the pose. It’s that smile, as much as all the smooth bare skin on display, that has Steve taking a deep breath and swiping right.

 **Steve** : oops my finger slipped  
**América** : that’s what she said eyyyy  
**América** : be careful, don’t get sex murdered  
**América** : wait if you get sex murdered can I have your leather jacket? The one with the pins?  
**Steve** : if I get sex murdered, you can have all my worldly possessions. please inform my elderly second cousin in Jersey that I died doing what I love.

~~~

The interview goes ok, as far as he can tell. They say they’ll let him know. He checks his phone a few times on the subway, but there are no messages from faceless hot couples.

Back home, he potters around the miniature kitchen, throwing together something that approximately resembles vegetable soup. He needs to buy groceries. “But groceries cost money, Steve,” he says out loud to himself, in an overly cheerful voice like a Sesame Street presenter. “So maybe you should get a fucking job.” It’s probably good that none of his roommates are home.

Leaving the soup simmering on the hotplate, he goes to take a long shower, to wash off all the grime of the subway and Midtown and trying to sell his skills to the corporate world. He thinks about jerking off, wonders if he’ll match with the Tinder couple. Decides to resign himself to a sexless night in. Netflix and vegetable soup and an early night, that’s what his adult life has come to.

He hears his phone buzz just as he’s getting out of the shower, but ignores it in favor of drying himself off and getting into his favourite pyjama pants and warm sweater. When he picks it up a few minutes later, there’s the Tinder message icon.

 **N &J**: hey Steve, thanks for swiping right! You’re cute :)  
**Steve** : thanks! who am I speaking with, N or J?  
**N &J**: This is N. I’m the redhead.  
**Steve** : your hair is beautiful.

He’d like to draw her. Layers of oil paint to build up a sense of texture, or markers to capture the bright depth of colors.

 **N &J**: thank you!  
**N &J**: so tell me about yourself, Steve. What’s your job? What do you do for fun?

 _I’m an artist_ , Steve sends back, because that sounds a whole lot better than _unemployed_. He wavers for a moment over the second question. Is she asking about sex, or hobbies? He goes for the polite option. Even on the apps, women aren’t usually as forward as guys.

 **Steve** : I spend a lot of time drawing in my free time as well tbh, & photography. I do some martial arts sometimes. I like going to the beach & art galleries. How about you?  
**N &J**: I work in security. So does James. We don’t get much time for hobbies, unfortunately.

 _Security_ , ugh.

 **Steve** : are you LEOs? ICE? I don’t fuck cops or border agents. Personal preference, no offence.

Maybe a little bit offence.

 **N &J**: No, nothing like that. So who do you like to fuck? Your profile says queer, what does that mean for you?

There’s something she’s not saying, there; something hiding in that rapid subject change. Steve thinks about calling her on it, but he does really want to get laid. He slides down on the couch, resting his head on the arm.

 **Steve** : I like people of all genders, I’ve mostly been with men. Mostly a top but I’m flexible. I’ve slept with couples before, had a good time. What is it that you guys are looking for?

There’s a long pause, as if she’s trying to get her thoughts in order – or backing out. Steve’s about to put his phone down and go check on his dinner, when several messages pop up in quick succession.

 **N &J**: A new experience, I guess.  
**N &J**: I’ve had threesomes before but  
**N &J**: not with James.  
**N &J**: he’s always been attracted to men but didn’t feel like he could act on it. He’s been talking about it more lately  
**N &J**: took a while to work through the guilt, felt he was being unfaithful  
**N &J**: I’ve been trying to convince him how much I like the idea of watching him with another man  
**Steve** : so would you just be watching?  
**N &J**: I’d like to participate, if you’d like that. I meant it when I said you’re cute.  
**Steve** : are you sure he’s comfortable with this? It’s a big step  
**N &J**: Yes. He’s an adult, he knows how to say no if something bothers him.  
**Steve** : so do I.  
**N &J**: So what are you doing tonight? Would you like to meet us for a drink?

~~~

They live in Manhattan, of course. The bar that N – he still hasn’t got her full name – invites him to is in the basement of an upmarket hotel, between Avengers Tower and the Rockefeller Center. About two blocks from where Steve’s interview was at, which probably explains why they popped up on his Tinder right then. Thanks, algorithms. Maybe he could match with someone who lives in his neighborhood next time, and spare himself the journey back across the river.

Still, it’s a nice bar. A waiter greets Steve at the door, offers to take his coat, leads him to a comfortable booth in the back corner with a good view of the room. It’s all dark red velvet couches and deep brown wooden tables, lights that look like vintage gas lamps. It’s not quiet – it’s Friday night, after all – but it’s a calm sort of noise. People clinking glasses and making conversation, not slamming shots and screaming at each other over a sound system. A waiter comes by and Steve orders a beer, trying to sound confident and like he can afford any drink in the place. Presumably N&J can afford this kind of place, or they wouldn’t have suggested it.

Maybe what they’re really looking for is some kind of sugar baby arrangement, which Steve’s never seriously considered before, but right now it feels preferable to an internship that barely covers his rent.

He’s playing idly with his phone when he hears the woman’s voice, a little deep and husky.

“You must be Steve.”

“Yeah,” he looks up, and the couple are already taking their seats across from him in the booth.

Steve’s first thought is _god, they’re hot_. J is all covered up in a soft blue woollen sweater, a leather jacket and gloves that do nothing to hide his broad shoulders and solid torso and powerful arms. He’s got a baseball cap on, pulled low over his eyes, and what looks like a few days worth of stubble on his stupidly chiseled face. N slides gracefully into the booth beside him, shrugging off her coat to reveal a killer dark red dress. She’s wearing a hat too – a cute black beanie that Steve immediately covets – and she gives him a friendly smile as she takes it off and runs a hand through her hair.

Steve’s second thought is _hang on, they look very familiar_.

“I’m Natasha,” the woman says, holding out her hand.

“Guh,” Steve says, coherently.

“You didn’t – you didn’t tell him,” the guy says, resigned, leaning back in his seat. “Ok. Hi,” he says to Steve, giving him an awkward little wave. “I’m James, yes we are who you think we are, my partner thinks she’s funny, I’m sorry about this. Would you like a drink?”

“Gin and tonic,” Steve says. “Lots – a double. Lots of gin. Please.” He’s expecting one of them to get up and go to the bar, which would grant him the partial reprieve of only having to try to make eye contact with one hot superhero, but of course this isn’t that sort of place. Natasha waves down a passing waiter, orders _three stiff gin and tonics_ with a deadpan look on her face. The waiter fumbles his notepad, looking as though all his sexual fantasies just came true and he doesn’t like it as much as he thought he would. Natasha raises one eyebrow at him, sending him scurrying off.

They both turn back to Steve.

Steve doesn’t know what to say. He’s never been great at casual first date chat at the best of times.

_How was your journey, from the high tech tower for superheroes that you live in with your superhero pals?_

_Did you have a good day at work saving the world from extraterrestrial threats?_

_Come here often when you’re not superheroing?_

“Nat said you’re an artist,” James says, a polite smile on his face. Steve is on a date with the Winter Soldier and he’s smiling politely while asking Steve about his job.

“Uh, yeah, I. I mean, not professionally? I have some pieces in a cafe in Brooklyn, but I don’t think any of them have sold yet.” _Nice, Rogers, that makes you sound very successful._

The waiter comes back with their drinks. Steve tries to drink slowly. He can hold his alcohol pretty well for a short skinny guy, but gulping down gin tends to give a bad impression on first dates. He tries to surreptitiously peek over the edge of his glass at the couple, and sees them exchanging a glance that looks almost nervous.

And maybe it’s that sight, maybe it’s the gin; but he suddenly feels a little rush of confidence. He can do this. It’s just a date; not so different from any of the other probably hundreds of dates he’s been on before. He puts down his glass, lounges back in his seat, and manages to give them a cheeky smile.

“So, ‘security’ work, huh?”

N – Natasha – the motherfucking Black Widow – gives Steve a sharp little grin. “I did tell you we’re not cops.”

“No, I guess you’re not,” Steve says. Debating the dubious legal and ethical status of super-powered vigilantes _definitely_ isn’t good first date conversation. Especially when the super-powered vigilantes are right there, sitting across from him.

“Tell me more about your art,” James says. He’s leaning on the table, an openly curious look on his face. He doesn’t really look like a super-powered vigilante. He looks like a nice, very muscular man on a first date.

“I draw, mostly,” Steve says. “Charcoal, sometimes markers. I used to work with oils, in college, but it’s expensive, you know?”

“Who’s your favourite artist?” Natasha says.

“Do I have to pick just one?”

“Top three,” she says, a hint of a challenge in her voice, keeping eye contact. If someone had said to Steve, this morning, _how d’you think the Black Widow would flirt_ , he’s pretty sure _by asking people to name their top three artists like it’s a test_ wouldn’t have been his first answer.

“Manet, Basquiat, and Claude Cahun,” Steve says, pretty much off the top of his head. “Who’re yours?”

“Degas,” she says, swirling the little umbrella in her drink. “Goncharova. Ana Mendieta.”

“You’ve got good taste,” Steve says. “How about you?”

“I’m out of my depth here,” James says cheerfully. “You said you’ve got a show in a cafe? Do a lot of people do that nowadays?”

“When they can’t get their foot in the door at any real galleries,” Steve says, smiling to make it sound like a joke. “No, my friend works there, they put up work by local artists to help them sell something.”

“D’you live in Brooklyn?”

“All my life,” Steve says. “It’s changed a lot since I was a kid.”

“Yeah, I noticed that too,” James says, with a grin, and Steve suddenly remembers, he’s from Brooklyn too. He’s got that statue in Prospect Park and everything.

They all sit in silence for a moment. Steve sips at his drink. It’s quiet for just long enough that it’s starting to feel awkward.

“Sorry, we,” Natasha starts, just as Steve says, “You two haven’t done this before, right?”

“Neither of us have been on a date in a while,” she says.

“You’re doing fine,” Steve says.

“Well, thanks,” she says. “I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

“What kind of date were you hoping for?” Steve says. They look at him, twin expressions of curiosity, and he finds himself smiling as he goes on, “like, do you want to spend the rest of the evening in this bar and get drunk? Do you want to go and get dinner? Or are we just having a quick drink so we can make sure we definitely all want to fuck each other?”

Usually he’d make a joke, something about meeting in public to make sure none of them are serial killers. But it’s just occurred to him that, by some definitions, maybe they actually are serial killers. Technically.

“I think the last one,” Natasha says.

“Yeah,” James says. He speaks more quietly, sounds less certain, but he’s looking at Steve like he wants to eat him alive, and it sends a delicious shiver up Steve’s spine.

“Why me, though,” Steve says, trying to make it sound light and not self-pitying, “why go on Tinder at all? Aren’t there a whole bunch of other hot super-people up in that Tower?”

James mumbles something into his drink that sounds suspiciously like _don’t shit where you eat_.

“I don’t want to fuck any of the other super-people,” Natasha says, looking Steve in the eyes. There’s a hint of a smile at one side of her mouth, just like in their Tinder photo, and it makes Steve want to smile back. “Right, James? We want to fuck you.”

Well, if she’s gonna put it like that. Steve picks up his glass, downs the last mouthful of his drink. Stands up, picks up his leather jacket. “What are we waiting for?”

~~~

It’s a short walk.

“What do you call it?” Steve asks, as they enter the tower through a hidden side door, Natasha swiping a key card and then pressing her fingertips against a scanner. “Stark Tower? Avengers Tower?”

“Tony Stark’s boarding house for emotionally dysfunctional superheroes,” James says, and Steve, surprised, laughs so loud that the receptionist and the security guards, over by the public front doors, turn to look. Natasha gives them a cheesy little salute, two fingers just brushing the side of her hat, and Steve’s still giggling as she herds them into the elevator.

It swooshes smoothly upwards, in that way that expensive elevators do, and after only a few seconds the doors open onto a hallway, softly lit and carpeted, leading to a dark wooden door with more complicated electronic locks and scanners.

Inside the door, Natasha kicks her shoes off with a little sigh of relief; and Steve crouches down to unlace his sneakers. Putting them on the fancy shoe rack next to her black high heels and James’s boots, he follows the two of them down the hall into a spacious living room.

The apartment is gorgeous, and the polar opposite from what Steve was expecting. He thought it would be all sharp lines and high-tech screens, rich person minimalism. But the floors are covered in thick, soft carpet; the tables and bookshelves are oak with rounded edges; the couch is huge and squishy-looking and covered with blankets and scatter cushions. The walls are painted in warm, deep colors, the windows covered with soft curtains. There are full bookshelves, and paintings and framed posters on the walls.

Natasha takes a seat on the couch, patting the cushion next to her in invitation, and Steve sits down beside her. They’re close, close enough that her thigh is just touching his. She leans back, crosses her legs, and he glances down to see the slit at the side of her skirt ride up, revealing the edge of a lace stocking-top. He imagines what that lace might feel like, under his hands, against his ears or the sides of his head as he –

“Can I get you anything?” James is looking down at him, amused, knowing; and Steve feels himself blush. “Water? Another drink?”

“Water’s good, thanks,” Steve says. James crosses over to the far corner of the room, where there’s a small drinks cabinet and a glass-fronted fridge.

“Tasha?”

“Water for me too, please,” Natasha says. James brings over bottles of water, some fancy brand in glass bottles, ice cold and dripping with condensation. He sits down, not on the couch with Steve and Natasha but opposite them, on the heavy oak coffee table.

“So,” Steve says, making his voice clear and confident. This part’s easy, if he just pretends that they’re normal people and this is an ordinary hookup. “I get tested every four months, my last test was about six weeks ago and it was all negative. I’ve had sex with a couple people since then but I always use condoms for any kind of penetrative sex. I don’t really like using condoms for oral, or dental dams, we can use them if that’s what you prefer, though.”

One of the most important things that Steve has learned, in the ten years he’s been slutting around the city, is that confidence and instincts go a long way. Project enough confidence, and most people won’t try to mess with you. Learn how to listen to your instincts, and you can avoid a lot of bad situations before they even start. When you’re a small queer asthmatic guy who wants to have a lot of sex with a lot of different people, you get good at these things.

Maybe it’s strange, but he’s not at all worried right now. Sitting on this couch, in the highest security building in the city, drinking a bottle of water and discussing his safer sex practices with two of the deadliest people on the planet; he feels completely safe.

“We get a full health screen every three months which includes STI checks,” Natasha says. James looks at her, and she gives a little shrug, as if to say, _what?_ “As of one month ago, neither of us have anything. We haven’t slept with anyone except each other for – about a year? And James probably can’t catch any infections anyway. But we’re happy to use protection, of course.”

“Ok,” Steve says. “You want to talk about limits and preferences, or would you rather just get started and see where things go?”

The two of them exchange another quiet moment of eye contact. They seem like one of those couples who can have a whole conversation with no words, and Steve feels a little twinge of jealousy. Then James leans forward, puts one big hand on Steve’s knee, and says, “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Steve says.

He kisses softly, hesitant at first. Gentle presses of his lips against Steve’s, then pulling back. Steve lets him get away with that for a minute or two, then slides forward on the couch so he can get his hands into play, one holding firmly onto James’s upper arm, the other sliding up the back of his neck and into his hair. He makes a fist, pulling gently, and the guy’s mouth opens on a quiet moan as Steve kisses him harder, deeper.

Steve lets go of him, sitting back. “So, you've never been with a man,” he says.

“No,” James says, quietly. He looks at the floor, looks back up at Steve, holds eye contact like he’s challenging himself to do it.

“Be more specific,” Steve says. He’s torn between wanting to bark orders, and wanting to make him smile. “Have you ever kissed another man before? Let a guy suck your dick? Awkward handjobs in the gym showers?”

“Uh, none of the above,” James says, laughing. God, Steve wants to kiss him. Wants to make him blush and shiver.

“It’s almost like you’re a virgin,” Steve says, putting on a thoughtful tone of voice, and James’s mouth drops open. He’s looking at Steve like he’s just been slapped in the face, like he doesn’t know what to say, like there’s nothing else worth looking at in the universe but Steve. It’s a rush.

“I had a feeling he’d be good at this,” Natasha says, and James turns to her, eyes wide. She grins at him, sliding one foot across the coffee table, nudging her toes into his lap. He puts a hand on her ankle – whether to stop her, or hold her foot against him, Steve's not sure.

“I’m very good at this,” Steve says, turning to give Natasha a quick grin. She smiles back.

“James, you should go get ready for him. Clean yourself up,” she says, casually, and her big bad superhero boyfriend blushes to the roots of his hair. He nods jerkily, mouth slightly open, like he wants to say something but is too embarrassed to speak. It’s _delicious._

“Go on then,” Natasha says, inclining her head towards the door, and he gets up, hurries out of the room. In the direction of the bathroom, presumably.

“I think it’s my turn to kiss you now,” Natasha says.

“Sure,” Steve says, putting his bottle of water down on the coffee table, just in time for her to climb into his lap, straddling him right there on the couch and leaning down to kiss him.

Her mouth is soft, cold from the chilled water. She kisses easily, confidently; one hand resting gently on Steve’s shoulder, the other holding on to the collar of his t-shirt. Her tongue is in his mouth pretty much straight away, and she smells amazing, and Steve is honestly just trying to keep up.

“You’re being very gentlemanly,” she says, after a minute or two, sitting back to look down at Steve’s hands, which are resting on the couch, a few inches away from her thighs.

“Sorry?” Steve says.

“Yeah, stop that,” she says, with a big smile, and takes hold of his hands. She pulls his right hand to her waist, sliding a little closer to him, encouraging. Steve gives her waist a gentle squeeze, strokes down over her hip and back up. “Hmm, better,” she says, head tilted to one side like a cartoon pinup. “Room for improvement, though,” and she drags Steve’s other hand up between them and plants it firmly on her breast.

Ok, Steve can get with this program. He pulls her in closer, kisses her again, more decisive this time. The dynamic is different with her than it is with James. She doesn’t want to be pushed around or embarrassed, that’s clear, but she doesn’t want him to be too careful with her either. He gets both hands on her breasts, stroking and kneading and it feels like she’s not wearing a bra under the tight red dress, her nipples getting hard under his hands, and that’s blowing his mind a little. He bites down on her lower lip and she grinds against him, gasping, then bites him back in return.

They’re still making out when James comes back from the bathroom. Steve’s too busy kissing to notice, but Natasha pulls back slightly – do superheroes have better hearing than normal people? Most normal people have better hearing than Steve, to be fair – and they both look up at him. He’s slightly damp at his hairline, like he splashed cold water on his face to cool off. Along with everything else he was doing in the bathroom, to get ready to be with another man for the first time. To get fucked for the first time.

“Bedroom,” Natasha says decisively, climbing off Steve’s lap and reaching a hand down to pull him to his feet.

The bedroom is just as soft and comfortable as the living room, thick soft carpet and warm lighting. Natasha climbs onto the huge bed and settles comfortably back against the pile of pillows. Ready to watch the show, Steve realizes, as she gives them a lazy, regal nod and says, “James. Take your clothes off.”

James gives her a quick smile and starts to unbutton his shirt. He doesn’t try to make it sexy, just undoes all the buttons quickly, lets the shirt slip back off his shoulders, draping it over the back of a nearby armchair before turning back to Steve. Steve reaches out with one hand, almost involuntarily, lets his fingers trail down from James’s shoulder, across his chest and stomach towards the waistband of his jeans. He’s fucking _built_ , not bodybuilder shredded or dad bod chunky but somewhere between the two, thick and solid. Steve’s so busy enjoying all the muscles and dark curly body hair that it’s a minute before he takes a proper look at the big metal prosthetic arm. It’s a dull silver color, a complex pattern of interlocking plates, from the solid shoulder down to the surprisingly delicate fingers. Steve could have some ideas about what those fingers could do, if he wanted to think about it.

“Go on,” Natasha says, a hint of a smile in her voice. “And the rest.”

James gives a little shrug, and then he’s unbuttoning his jeans and stripping them off, his underwear and socks with them. Turns out, the Winter Soldier has a really nice dick. That is a fact about the universe that Steve knows now.

Turns out, the Winter Soldier also makes a cute little breathless noise when you touch his dick. Steve wraps his hand around it and starts stroking him, slow and firm, then reaches up with his other hand and grabs the back of James’s neck, using his grip for leverage to stand up on tiptoes and kiss him. James’s arms come up to hold him, warm skin and cool metal wrapping around his back and pulling him in close, and he touches James’s jaw, the side of his neck. Rests his hand at the base of his throat, tightens his grip slightly and enjoys the gasp he gets in response, takes the opportunity to stick his tongue in the guy’s mouth.

“Tell him what you want, James,” Natasha says, and Steve looks over to the bed. She’s got one hand behind her head, playing with her hair; the other hand resting on her thigh. She smiles at Steve, and it’s a quiet little moment of shared understanding, shared pleasure. God, co-topping is so much fun. Steve’s not sure he’s ever slipped so easily into it with hookup partners before.

James ducks his head, hiding behind his hair, his breath hot against Steve’s neck. “I want to suck you off,” he says, quiet.

“Ok,” Steve says. He lets go of James’s cock, reaches up to grab a handful of his hair instead, and James shudders slightly, kisses just under Steve’s ear, carefully, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed. “You want me to wear a condom?”

“No,” James murmurs; then, more confidently; “No. I want to taste it.”

“Ok,” Steve says, again. He takes a step back, puts a bit of space between them, gives his hair a sharp little tug. Makes eye contact. “Get on your knees.”

It takes him a minute. Eyes wide, feet moving uncertainly on the carpet. It’s not easy, Steve knows. Obeying orders. Doing something new for the first time. Being so vulnerable.

When he does drop to his knees it’s smooth, graceful; the heavy muscles of his thighs and stomach tensing and then relaxing. His hands twitch, like he’s not sure what to do with them, and Steve imagines how good he’d look with his arms bound behind his back. Tied to a hook in the ceiling, maybe, the rope pulled just taut enough to keep him kneeling up as high as possible. Not painful, but unyielding. Uncomfortable.

Steve thinks about getting naked. On the one hand, it’s warm in the bedroom, and he likes the idea of giving Natasha a good show. On the other, there’s a power dynamic here, that seems to be working for all of them, and him staying clothed while James is naked only adds to it.

In the end he compromises by taking off his shirt, enjoys how both of them look at him with open appreciation. Chucks his t-shirt on the nearby chair and hooks a thumb into his belt loop, letting his hand frame his cock where it’s obviously hard, visible even through his jeans. He leaves his belt buckled, just unzips his fly so he can pull his cock out and give himself a lazy stroke, and he knows it’s the right move when James’s mouth falls open slightly.

“Come on,” he says, voice a bit less steady than before. He doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything to help James out. Watches as the realization hits, the downward glance as he works out that if he wants to get Steve’s cock in his mouth, he’s going to have to work for it.

It takes him a minute, but soon enough he shuffles forward on his knees, gets himself into position. Hesitates for another moment, then opens his mouth and licks the head of Steve’s cock, light and tentative. It’s even more exhilaratingly hot than Steve had imagined.

“Talk to him,” Natasha says. “Keep giving him instructions, he likes that,” and her voice is deeper and breathless with arousal. Steve looks at her, she’s sitting upright on the bed, leaning towards them, watching intently. She likes this, likes watching her boyfriend on his knees, sucking dick for the first time. Her dress has ridden up higher, and if she just opened her legs a little more, Steve would be able to see her underwear.

“Do you like this?” Steve says, looking down. It takes effort to keep his voice even, to stop himself from thrusting deep into James’s mouth and staying there. He’s still feeling it out, his mind running a mile a minute, searching for the right voice, persona, attitude. Working out where his desires and theirs can meet and make sparks. What’s going to turn them both on, how far he can push. It’s like taking little steps into the shallow edge of a lake, wondering if the sand beneath your feet is about to drop away and plunge you straight into the water. “You like having a cock in your mouth?”

James nods, cautiously. His eyes are closed.

“Look at me,” Steve says.

He opens his eyes, looks up, and the eye contact is a sharp jolt of pleasure. Steve’s hips jerk forward before he can stop himself, forcing his cock deeper, and James makes a little surprised sound but goes with it pretty well for a beginner, closing his lips around it and sucking hard. Steve grabs his hair, moves his head back and forth, rough, careless; and his eyelids flutter closed again. He moans, then chokes softly as Steve pushes further into his mouth. Steve backs off, gives him a moment to recover, stroking his hair. “That’s it. Take a deep breath. You can take it.”

He hears a soft gasp, and looks over to the bed. Natasha is leaning back against the pillows, her legs just a little way apart. She’s got one hand between her legs, her fingers moving in rhythmic circles under plain black cotton; and as she catches Steve’s eyes her mouth falls open, she’s breathing heavy and loud enough that he can hear it, in the quiet of the room, over the soft wet sounds of James’s mouth on his cock.

“Tell me what else you want,” Steve says, looking back down at the man on his knees before him. James’s tongue is rubbing up against the underside of his cock and it’s so good, it’s intoxicating, making his knees feel weak. “You want me to fuck you? You want it in your ass?”

He grabs the guy’s hair again, pulls out of his mouth, gives him a moment to collect himself, to gasp for breath.

“Yes,” he says, voice deep and rough and quiet. “Yeah, I want that.”

“Well, you can wait,” Steve says, forcing himself to sound careless, rather than desperately turned on. He looks over at Natasha again, on the bed, still watching them, still lazily touching herself. “Her turn first.”

James is looking at her too, looking up at her from where he’s still kneeling on the bedroom floor. Steve thinks about making him stay there, making him close his eyes or turn his back, not letting him see what Steve and Natasha are doing together on the bed. Considers saying something a bit cruel, objectifying; telling James to wait there on the floor until Steve wants to use him again. Maybe that’s too mean for a first hookup, though. He doesn’t want to push it too far.

“Get up,” he says, and enjoys watching James come easily back to his feet, smooth and graceful. He takes a moment to ease his own jeans and shorts off, leaving them on the chair with the rest of the discarded clothes.

“How do you want me?” James asks, and there’s a hint of a smile on his face, his eyes big and dark, looking down at Steve. Awaiting instruction.

“Go sit behind her,” Steve says, and he does, leaning back against the pillows, pulling Natasha back into his arms, kissing her neck.

“Unzip me,” she says, and together they get her dress off. James drops it carelessly off the side of the bed. She reaches down to take her stockings off.

“You, uh. You can leave those on,” Steve says, and has to clear his throat. She grins at him, like she knows precisely what he’s been imagining, and leans back, stretching, reaching back to drape her arms around James’s neck.

Steve starts slowly kissing down her body. Her neck and collarbones smell faintly of perfume. He sucks and bites gently at her nipples, which she seems to enjoy; squirming and breathing harder. He moves further down, starts kissing the insides of her thighs, around those lace stocking-tops.

He can smell her, wants to just rub his whole face against her, drink her in. He hasn’t hooked up with anyone with this anatomy in a while and now he’s wondering why, what’s up with him lately that he would voluntarily miss out on this. It feels like a gift and a privilege, that he gets to do this for her, that she’s allowing him to be here.

He takes a deep breath, starts with one slow, firm upward lick, still on the outside of her underwear. The fabric is warm against his tongue, tasting of nothing much. That’s ok. He’ll get to taste her soon enough. For now he’s perfectly happy to play around, dropping lazy little kisses on her lower belly, rubbing his nose up against her, letting his teeth scrape gently across the tops of her thighs. Slides his hands up the outsides of her legs, hooks his fingers into her underwear.

“Can I?”

“Yes,” she says, impatient. “Come on,” so Steve takes her underwear off and does the job properly.

She’s so warm, and dripping wet, and tastes incredible. A stray thought darts through Steve’s head – _this is the Black Widow, you’re going down on an actual superhero_ – but he pushes it away. She’s just a person. They’re all just people, and they’re here to make each other feel good.

She’s quiet at first. Sighing softly, shifting her hips slightly down against the bed. Steve focuses in, licking at her more firmly. Feels her thigh muscles tense, so he keeps going. A few minutes of that, pressing his tongue up against her, slow intense little circles, and her thighs tighten around his head. She’s breathing heavily, moving with him, a feedback loop. Steve stops, pulls back – and she makes a real noise, an indignant sounding moan. Steve presses his face against her thigh, trying not to laugh.

“Stop teasing,” she says, and reaches down to grab his hair. He ducks away – he prefers being on the giving end of hair-pulling – and grins up at her, unrepentant.

James is looking down at him too, watching intently over Natasha’s shoulder.

“Any tips?” Steve asks him, still smiling. He puts his thumb just above Natasha’s clit and starts rubbing as softly as he can, too gently to have the kind of effect she wants right now, and she makes another frustrated noise and tilts her hips up.

“You’re doing pretty good already,” James says.

“We can do better than _pretty good_ ,” Steve says. He can’t decide which of their faces is the better picture right now – James all flushed and aroused and smiling, Natasha half-drunk on pleasure and frustration. “C’mon, help a guy out,” he says to James. “What’s the best way to make her come?”

“Don’t talk about me in the third person,” Natasha says, breath hitching; and Steve laughs out loud. James is laughing too, running his hands gently all over her, kissing her shoulders and neck and ears.

“Two fingers inside her,” he says, between kisses. “Slow, don’t move them too much. And suck her clit gently.”

“Is he right?” Steve says, making eye contact with Natasha, moving his fingers more firmly.

“Yeah, yeah, he knows what he’s doing down there,” she says, then James pinches both of her nipples at once, and her back arches and she whines out loud.

“I wanna watch that some time,” Steve says, and gets to following instructions.

As she gets closer she gets quieter again, her thighs trembling, tightening and relaxing around his head in an unpredictable rhythm. Steve looks up at her through his eyelashes. Her eyes are closed, her head tipped back, she’s reaching up to grab handfuls of James’s hair, pulling on it hard. Steve just keeps going, curling his fingers up steadily inside her, licking and sucking at her until his jaw is aching and his face is wet. Until her legs spasm tighter around him, and her cunt clutches tighter around his fingers, and she sucks in a deep breath and lets it out with a loud groan. Even then, he doesn’t stop entirely, just moves his fingers more gently and flattens his tongue and lets her grind up against his hand and his mouth until she falls back, reaches down with an unsteady hand to gently push his head away, laughing, gasping, “stop, too much.”

Steve kneels up, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and leans in to kiss her. She kisses differently now, looser and lazier, letting him lick into her mouth. When Steve sits back on his heels, they grin at each other, joyful and maybe a little bit smug. Then she looks up at James, reaches up to clumsily touch his face, stroke his hair; and she says, “your turn.”

Steve looks at him. He doesn’t know what expression is on his face but maybe it’s a little intimidating, because James visibly swallows, then ducks his head to hide a nervous smile, nuzzling at Natasha’s shoulder. “Ok? You still want me to fuck you?” he asks, and James nods.

“Lube and condoms in the top drawer,” Natasha says, waving vaguely in the direction of the nearest bedside cabinet, and Steve’s smiling again as he hops off the bed to fetch some. She really does like the idea of watching her boyfriend with another man. He stands beside the bed for a second, thinking. What does he want? What will be most comfortable for James?

He pats the bed, to show James where he wants him. “Hands and knees, here.” Climbs onto the bed behind him. “Spread your legs,” he adds, nudging the insides of James’s thighs gently, feeling that adrenaline rush of power and lust when James obeys, a choked-off sound falling from his mouth as he shuffles his knees apart on the bed, making space for Steve to kneel between his legs, getting his ass down to just the right height. “Yeah, that’s good, stay just like that.”

He starts with just the pad of his thumb, slippery with lube, rubbing, teasing. He’s watching the set of James’s shoulders, listening to his breathing, waiting for his body to start to relax. It takes a few minutes, but eventually he gives a gentle push, and his thumb slips easily inside. He fucks James like that for a little while, adding more lube, stroking James’s hip with his other hand, murmuring to him softly, reassuring. _That’s it, relax, that’s good, keep breathing, you’re doing great._

“I have – uhh, fuck – I’ve had a finger up my ass before,” James says, muffled in the pillows, and Steve laughs.

“Ok, tough guy. You want more?”

“Yes, please,” he says, politely, and Steve grabs a condom and the bottle of lube, manages to get ready without fumbling or dropping anything on the floor. He lines himself up and takes a deep breath, trying to stay grounded through another head-spinning surge of desire. If he screws this up for James by coming too quickly he’ll be so pissed at himself. Slowly, gently, he starts rubbing the head of his cock up against James’s asshole, dripping more lube over them both, then very carefully starts pushing in.

“Oh, that – shit, that feels...”

“Good?” Natasha says.

“Fucking _weird_ ,” James says, and Steve tries not to laugh, tries to keep as still as possible. He’s got a _responsibility_ here, it’s on him to show James that getting fucked can feel good, to introduce him to it in a way that’s safe and pleasurable, to be careful with him and not freak him out. He may be a massive muscley dude with a metal arm who beats up aliens as his day job, but right now he’s vulnerable.

It’s hard to keep still, though, when it feels so good. Warm and tight and he can feel James is trying to adjust to having a cock inside him for the first time, the way he keeps clenching up and then relaxing. The soft little noises he’s making between unsteady breaths as Steve gets all the way in.

“Good boy,” Natasha says, low and quiet, and Steve opens his eyes to see her stroking James’s hair, gently kissing his neck. James’s shoulders twitch, a little quiver runs up his spine. Then he folds his arms, dropping down to his elbows, his face in the pillows and that whole long broad muscled back sloping down, all naked and ready, just waiting for Steve to take.

“Come on,” he says, “I’m good, you can –” his voices hitches, rough – “you can fuck me, come on.”

Steve pulls back, slow and gentle as he can, gets most of the way out, and sees James clutch a handful of the bedsheets with his right hand.

“Ugh, fuck, that’s –”

“I know,” Steve says, and his own voice sounds rough and almost desperate too, “it’s ok, it’s – just relax, give it a minute,” but he can’t take his own advice and he’s pushing back inside already, it feels _so good_. Seeing James struggling to take it – seeing all that strength, submitting to him –

“That’s it, that’s so good,” Natasha says. She’s watching intently, and she looks turned on but at the same time there’s something soft in her eyes, something deeply fond. She moves closer, winds a hand into James’s hair and pulls his head to rest in her lap. He reaches out for her with his right hand, rubs his face against her, open-mouthed.

He relaxes quicker than Steve was expecting, after that, starts moving back into it. He’s breathing hard, moaning softly. It’s starting to feel real good for him, Steve can tell.

He puts his left hand on James’s hip, plants his right hand firmly in the center of the man’s back. Pulls his hips up and shoves his upper back further down, making him arch his back; and he knows he doesn’t actually have the strength to move James anywhere he doesn’t want to be moved, but James just goes with it, easy and sweet. Steve lets himself thrust harder, deeper, gives into the pleasure and the urge to just bury himself inside.

“I could fuckin’ live here,” he hears himself say, and Natasha laughs.

Steve gets lost in it for what feels like a long time, only conscious of rhythm and heat and pleasure, the damp sweat between his hands and James’s hips, the sweet little noises he’s making every time Steve fucks into him. Natasha leans down, starts speaking quietly in his ear, and Steve hears, “– think you can come like this? From him fucking you?”

James looks up at her, opens his mouth to speak, and the words come out all in a rush, syllables jumbled together and tripping over one another, “oh shit fuck oh my _god_ ,” and then his whole body seizes up and he’s coming, shaking with it, metal fingers digging into the pillows and his right hand clutching desperately at Natasha’s thigh. Steve wants to slow down, wants to ease him through it, he really does; but he’s blindsided by his own orgasm, hitting him like a punch of pure pleasure, so intense he can barely see or think, can’t do anything except shove his cock even deeper into James’s body and ride it out, mouth open, gasping for breath. He collapses, legs shaking, slumping forward onto James’s broad muscular back. There are those little back muscle dimples that he’d seen in the Tinder photo. Steve wants to lick them. Wants to bite his shoulders, Jesus fucking christ.

Once he’s got his breath back, he inches backwards, pulls out as carefully as he can. James grits his teeth, sucks in a breath with a quiet little hissing sound, and drops down to lie flat on the bed, face down. Natasha strokes his hair. Steve gets to his feet, legs wobbling, and goes to look for a trashcan to get rid of the condom.

When he gets back to the bed James has turned onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows. His hair is tangled and sweaty, his face pink; there’s a smear of jizz on his stomach. He looks wide-eyed and a little bit uncertain and fucking gorgeous.

“You good?” Steve says, and he nods, clears his throat.

“Yeah. That was – you’re really – um. Thanks?”

“You’re welcome,” Steve says. He’s smiling so hard that his face hurts. He flops onto the bed, rolling onto his back and closing his eyes. “God, I’m fucking done,” he mumbles.

“I could go again,” Natasha says, idly, then squeaks as James rolls over, grabs her around the waist and buries his face between her legs. Steve turns onto his side to watch, getting comfortable with his head on a pillow.

It occurs to Steve, a short time later, as he’s dropping off to sleep, that he wouldn’t usually feel safe and relaxed enough to fall asleep while in bed with two virtual strangers who are still fucking each other. _Oh well_ , he thinks. _The sex was pretty damn good. That’s probably why_.

~~~

Natasha wakes early, it’s a habit. The bedroom is quiet, dimly lit, just a hint of morning sunlight around the edge of the curtains. She sits up slowly, slides out from under the covers.

James is lying on his front, naked, his left arm hugging the pillow that his face is resting on. His hair is a mess and he’s breathing deeply, rhythmically. Still fast asleep. His right arm is slung across Steve’s skinny waist, hand gently clasping around a hipbone. Steve, splayed out on his back, taking up much more of the bed than you’d expect from a man his size, is snoring softly.

She looks down at herself, and has to hold in a delighted laugh. Reaches up, pulls her hair back, and takes a moment to just _feel_ , to sink into how warm and dishevelled and satisfied her whole body feels. Her inner thighs are faintly sticky, there are little pink bruises on her breasts and hips. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, squeezes her legs together. Her cunt still feels damp. She’s wearing one stocking.

Reluctantly, she takes the stocking off, balling it up and throwing it in the vague direction of the laundry basket.

There’s a robe hanging in her closet, a long black silk thing, ridiculous and decadent. Not at all the sort of thing she usually wears around the apartment, but somehow it feels right, this morning, to slip it on over nothing else, tie it loosely around her waist. The cool silk on her skin is another pleasure, a reminder.

She tiptoes down the hall to the kitchen and wanders idly around it, opening the fridge and closing it again, pulling open the drawer of assorted coffee pods and shuffling through them, enjoying the cool feeling of the foil shapes against her fingers. She scoops up a handful at random, drops one into the machine, and goes to sit at the breakfast bar.

Over the gurgling sounds of the coffee machine, she hears the gentle shuffling sounds of a body climbing out of bed; the bedroom door opening, the bathroom door closing, the shower coming on. A few minutes later, footsteps in the hallway, and James comes into the kitchen.

He’s shirtless, barefoot, only wearing one of his many pairs of track pants. They’re gray, baggy, hideous things; but Natasha can’t criticise the way they hang low on his hips, like they could slip off at any moment. His eyebrows go up as he takes in the black silk robe, and Natasha grins at him, leaning forward with her elbows on the bar top, knowing the front of the robe is loose and clinging enough to make her cleavage and the shapes of her nipples visible. For a second, she wonders if they should just go straight back to bed. Wake Steve up and see if he’s up for another go.

“Good morning,” James says, and comes around to stand behind her, his hands squeezing her shoulders gently, a lazy massage. She leans back against him, and he kisses the top of her head before letting her go and taking a seat beside her.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, and he shrugs, smiles, warm and a little self-conscious.

“Good. Great. Not – different. You know. You?”

“Really good.”

“It was kind of…”

“Intense?”

“Yeah.”

“Not what you expected?”

“I’m not sure exactly what I expected,” he says.

“You want breakfast?”

“Not yet. You?”

“Just coffee for now,” Natasha says, raising her cup to him in a little salute. _За тебя, you got fucked for the first time_ ; she thinks, and almost laughs out loud.

“We could,” James starts, then looks down at the counter top.

“Yeah?”

“Go out,” he says.

“For breakfast?”

“Yeah, I mean. Sure. But maybe also -”

“Oh. With –”

“Do you think?”

“I think –”

She cuts herself off, hearing the soft shuffle of bare feet on the hall carpet. They both look up just as Steve appears in the doorway. He blinks, smiles. Runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back where it’s long on top. He’s wearing his own black underwear, and James’s shirt from last night, that well-worn old dark blue dress shirt, and it’s slipping off one shoulder, just too big enough on him to look completely adorable. Natasha wonders if he just threw it on without thinking, or if the adorableness is a play, calculated to provoke a reaction.

It’s provoking something in James, that’s for sure. His eyes look soft and he almost stumbles over his words as he says, “hey. Did you sleep well?”

“Morning. Great, thanks,” Steve says. He comes over to the breakfast bar, gets up onto one of the bar stools. Natasha leans over to press the button on the coffee machine.

For a moment all three of them are quiet. It’s a comfortable sort of silence. The kitchen is warm, full of morning sun through the big window. James leans slightly towards Natasha, his shoulder just touching hers, and she uncrosses her legs, letting her thigh press up against his. The coffee machine splutters out its last drips of espresso, and James reaches over to pick up the little cup and hand it to Steve.

“Thanks,” he says. He closes his eyes as he takes the first sip of coffee, then looks up, grins at them both over the edge of his cup. “So,” he says. “When do I get to meet the Falcon?”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Feel free to leave a comment. I'm on twitter [@gyroscope_fic](https://twitter.com/gyroscope_fic)


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